


Mending

by grelleswife



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Brief mentions of blood and violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Some angst, Trans Female Character, female pronouns for Grelle, the demon experiences remorse for the first time, there is a moment where O!Ciel misgenders Grelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 14:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grelleswife/pseuds/grelleswife
Summary: After Grelle is wounded when Sebastian is commanded to fight her by his master, the remorseful demon tends to her injury.





	Mending

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to an anonymous prompt from a Tumblr user requesting a Sebagrelle oneshot involving "patching a wound." There is a short passage where our earl misgenders Grelle, and there are also very brief mentions of blood and violence. However, I tried to make sure that I didn't write anything too egregious. Hope you enjoy, and do let me know your thoughts!

“ _Mea culpa_.”

A scarlet gash was scored from the top of the reaper’s left shoulder to the small of her back. Slashed by a Phantomhive knife.

_~~My hand dealt the blow~~_.

No, he mustn’t dwell on that…it would cloud his mind, and he needed to focus on cleaning the wound as gently as possible, sewing it up a stitch at a time, doing everything he could to ensure that it healed properly.

_~~But it will still leave a scar, and you know how scars upset her because they’re unladylike…~~ _

He mustn’t ruminate on that. Focus. FOCUS!

“ _Mea culpa_.”

This shouldn’t have happened. Grelle had unexpectedly dropped by the manor this evening to surprise him. They should be in eachother’s arms right now, curled up contentedly in their bed, or enjoying a clandestine dance on the rooftops. Instead…

_Damn that spoiled, entitled brat. Damn him!_

How was Grelle to know that the young master would be too tormented by nightmares and his own troubled thoughts to sleep? How could she possibly have guessed that the Earl would resort to pacing about outside, petulantly demanding that Sebastian keep watch? She’d realized her mistake as soon as she’d appeared on the grounds, materializing in front of them from the reapers’ realm with a broad grin that had abruptly slipped away as her peridot eyes locked with the Phantomhive heir’s incredulous gaze.

“What the devil are _you_ doing here? Sebastian, get him off the premises this instant! That’s an order!”

_Her_ , Sebastian had wanted to retort, but he was in no position to argue, regardless of his anger at such blatant disrespect towards Miss Sutcliff.

_Please_ , he’d silently begged Grelle with his eyes as he reluctantly approached, drawing out his knives. Fear coiled in the pit of his stomach with its biting chill. _Flee, dear_.

That hadn’t been an option, though, at least not right away. Demon and reaper both knew what tragedy might befall them if Sebastian’s master caught wind of their relationship, the feverish kisses and whispered promises hidden in the shadows. They would have to act as strangers, enemies. Luckily, Grelle was a consummate actress. She’d given him a quick wink, as if to say, _Don’t you fret, darling_ , before leaping at him with a whoop, death scythe at the ready.

It was a dance in which he and his partner must strike a precarious balance between appearing sufficiently aggressive and avoiding inflicting harm on one another.

A horrible question had flashed across his mind.

**_What if the young master orders me to kill her?_**  

After all, Grelle had ruthlessly struck down the brat’s aunt. Sebastian was painfully aware of the Watchdog’s vengeful tendencies and capacity for rancor, highly unusual for a mere slip of a child.

Nerves stretched to the breaking point, wracked with dread, Sebastian had been a second too fast. Grelle had been a second too slow. In an instant, blood spurted from the wound inflicted by his silver cutlery.

_I hurt her._

_I HURT her._

Was this all that demons were good for? Bringing pain?

“ _Mea culpa_.” The last stitch was in place.

_~~If that knife had gone just a few inches deeper…~~ _

No!

_Don’t think about that!_

She was alive, alive, alive. He reached out to grip her shoulder to reassure himself of this fact, anxiously breathed in the warm, comforting scent of her hair, her soul. Alive.

After the young master had at last retired for the night ( _Damn the brat!_ If not bound by the ironclad mandates of their contract, Sebastian would have snapped his neck without the slightest qualm), the Phantomhive butler had raced to the woods into which Grelle had vanished after being injured.

She’d waited for him, run into his outstretched arms without hesitation. Each trembled within the other’s embrace as they realized how close their brush with disaster had been. Sebastian had insisted he patch up the wound.

This, then, was guilt—a crushing weight that suffocated the heart and darkened the mind.

_~~What if I lose her trust?~~ _

What use were apologies? They would not undo what had been done. Still, he repeated, brokenly, “ _Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa_ …”

 “Bassy.”

She shifted to face him.

“I’m at least partially to blame, darling,” she whispered, tenderly laying a hand on his cheek. “I was careless. Sometimes love makes a lady impetuous. I know you had no choice.”

“But I hurt you…”

 “True, but you also put me back together again. I would do the same for you.”

She touched her forehead to his and nuzzled him gently.

 “All is forgiven.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa: Latin for "my fault, my most grievous fault." Used as part of a prayer of confession in the Catholic Church.


End file.
